I started thinking about all the baby gays in the world, and the idea of this letter came to me. No, it’s not original. It’s a thing now, and I’m just following the crowd. Deal. You’ll have plenty of time to come back for jokes about your mother and how my wife can irritate the piss out of me without even trying.
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Dear Leslie,
You are now 35 years old. I know this may come as a shock to you, given that right now, you are only 14. If you are actually reading this, then Doctor Who is real. I know you don’t really know about Doctor Who yet, but when you do, the reference will make you giggle.
Because I’m you, I know that you’ve just had a hell of a summer. You broke up with the best boyfriend in the entire world because you didn’t think you loved him the way you thought you should. The person you could talk to about that stuff is four hours away when you thought she’d be there for your freshman year of high school. You slept with your parents the night before your first day because you were so terrified of starting this new life. You think you are incredibly uncool, and in a sense, you are right. But you are also one of the most loved people in your grade, you just don’t know it.
Because you’re so sad, you miss out on a lot of stuff. It’s ok. Your 14-year-old mind works kind of like your 35-year-old mind, and I can tell you that you miss a lot of stuff your whole life. You’re an introvert. No one will tell you this. You will have a queen bee attitude in public because that’s what your life requires. But inside, you brood, and you think a lot, and sometimes you write it down.
That’s going to come in handy. You’re going to meet girls (I know that’s a load off your mind, since at this point you are still wearing a Luke Perry t-shirt and purple striped overall shorts). That “writing it down” will become instrumental in your girl-getting power. Use the force, with great power comes great responsibility, etc.
When you’re a little older, you’ll meet your first love. It will be terrible and wonderful like all first loves are. She’ll treat you like crap in public and you’ll take it for the sweet, stolen kisses when no one else is watching. You don’t even think about leaving because it’s not like there are girls wound up around the block.
When that girl finally disappears, you’ll spend three years processing everything that happened to you because it’s not just about processing the relationship, it’s learning that you are indeed REALLY, REALLY gay and you have to learn to live your life differently and just the same as everyone else.
You will still flirt with boys your entire life because it’s just too easy.
You learn to cope. You get out of the South, three times. You move to DC once and Portland twice. You get away from your first family and breathe, not because they’ve ever done anything negative to you, but because you’ve never been without them in a strange city and there’s so much to explore and you don’t know whether they’ll approve or not. You decide they’re not here and try to find yourself.
You do. As of right now, you are in a great marriage that you never expected would happen. Here’s a tip: when Dana invites you over for Easter lunch, GO.
Love,
Leslie
p.s. The President is black.
Stories That Are All True 